


A more fitting title

by caylar



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, How Do I Tag, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Table Sex, The Great Lack of Top!Javert Made Me Write This, Top Javert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caylar/pseuds/caylar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valjean doesn't remember how he ended up face first on the table but he enjoys it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A more fitting title

**Author's Note:**

> When I first got in to Les Mis I was disappointed in the great lack of Top!Javert, seriously, top!Javert is like a unicorn in this fandom. So ages ago I decided I'd write my own since [iamee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamee/) hadn't turned to my side of JVJ yet. I never finished writing it tho and of course it's pwp, but it's finished now and oh, look how short it is.
> 
> Extra points to you if you can tell where I stopped writing and then months later picked up writing again!
> 
> Probably forgot to tag this appropriately. All mistakes are my own.

The table creaks, moves and shakes. But it won’t break. Valjean’s barely breathing; he can’t remember how it turned out like this. There’s a hand pressing against his back, forcing him to stay still against the table. As if he could do anything but tremble and shake when Javert pulls his hips back only to harshly snap them forth again. There’s something inside of him that breaks and at the same time rises like the phoenix from its ashes when Javert pushes further inside, inside of Valjean and the sound that escapes the fugitive is broken so filled with delight and pleasure.

“Valjean” Javert spills the name from his lips and it sounds much like a curse. As if he was saying the Devil’s name. It stirs something in Valjean and he shudders and arches his back, desperate for something he cannot name.

“You thought you could escape the law?” he whispered into Valjean's ear, and then, pushing in deeper, he growled: “you thought, you could escape _me_?” Javert’s voice is rough and raw. It shouldn’t sound like music to Valjean’s ears, no it shouldn’t, but it does and Valjean moans in return.

“J-Ja-“ Valjean tries to speak his captor’s name, but Javert’s next thrust goes yet deeper and he stills within Valjean. His prick brushing against something that makes Valjean elicits sounds no man should ever hear, and as the hand on his back presses down further, bruising his spine, Javert speaks again:

“You do _not_ speak my name.” There’s a threat, a promise, of what would happen if Valjean was to defy him so he nods but he isn’t sure to what he is accepting. Not saying Javert’s name? To this? To Javert possessing him like no other ever have? Not even God. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. As Javert leans back, standing straight, his hand glides down Valjean’s spine towards his arse where Javert’s prick is nestled deep within Valjean. Javert’s hand stops, finding its place on Valjean’s cheek, but his thumb travels still some and when it touches where Valjean is stretched around Javert Valjean’s arms give out.

Much like lightning had struck him Valjean slumps against the table, paralyzed, his cheek hot against the table as he watches Javert. Javert, who is as shocked as Valjean by this sudden change but his expression does not falter long, soon it turns into something so much more. As if he knew the outcome of his action but still played the fool for his own pleasure only to see Valjean’s confused and blessed out expression. Javert doesn’t move his thumb, nor does he look away from Valjean’s face, as he gives Valjean a slight push, it’s barely a movement at all but Valjean moans all the same.

“You enjoy _this_ , ‘Monsieur le maire’?”

Valjean wants to deny it, he tries, but no words leave his mouth, only desperate pleas for more, more of something Valjean isn't even sure of what it is. His hands reach for something to hold onto, but the edges of the table are too far away and as Javert pulls out agonising slowly Valjean's whole body locks up, trembling and anticipating. But Javert doesn’t push back in, instead he keep the tip inside of Valjean, stretching only the rim and moves his thumb over and around it. Valjean’s lust filled haze has him pushing back against Javert, needing his prick inside of him again, filling him. Javert’s hands stop him, moved with such haste that Valjean whines, unable to get that friction he desperately needs not even knowing why. Javert leans over him, holding him still, mouth near his ear and venom spills from his mouth:

“You have done so well, taking a whore’s name. Is it not fitting?” Valjean cannot verbally respond, not with Javert so close to him that his nerves fry at their endings, all he does is gasp and yet again try to press back against Javert. Javert laughs at Valjean’s reaction, it’s loud and out of place, Valjean does not think he has ever heard Javert laugh, his eyes go wide and the world seems to clear again.

“If your precious flock could see you now, legs spread and arse bare, begging for my prick.”

Javert leans back again, hands gripping Valjean’s hips, there will be bruises in the morning; purple finger shaped bruises that will fit Javert’s fingers perfectly. There’s a moment when Valjean thinks it is over, Javert’s pulling back so far his prick slips out of him but it is not what Valjean wants, what he needs. God knows Javert is right, Valjean is begging for Javert’s prick even if there are no actual words leaving him, the sounds escaping him speak enough for him and when Javert presses the head of his prick against Valjean’s red, slick and open hole Valjean whimpers in relief that Javert will give him what he needs.

“Jean Valjean, whore of M-sur-M is a more fitting title.”

Valjean nods, accepting it just like his body accepts the way Javert thrusts in again, rough and bruising. He’s lax with how ready for he is, never did he think he would enjoy this, after the years in Toulon and how this act is a disgrace in God’s eyes but with Javert filling him in a way God never could, scratching and itch he did not even know he had, Valjean embraces the situation and lets go.

Javert’s voice grows distant, his swears and insults replaced with sounds of pleasure. That too makes the fire in Valjean’s stomach burn so much stronger, he’s reaching something within himself, feels it going stronger with each thrust of Javert’s hips. That is when Javert pulls Valjean half off of the table, one of his hands moving from his hip to his stomach, finding Valjean hard and aching and when Javert wraps his fingers around Valjean’s prick Valjean positively keens.

“Ja-Javert, oh mercy, please, I cannot.”

Javert strokes Valjean in time with his thrusts, revelling in the way Valjean’s body clenches around his prick. His thrusts has gone erratic, his own release impending and he knows he will spend soon.

“Yes, you, can, and, you, will.”

Each word is punctuated with a powerful thrust and Valjean stands no chance, he moves with Javert, seeking out that fire in his stomach and he is so close he can touch it, even as intangible as it is he will reach it. However, Javert’s hand leaves his prick just when he is reaching and he falls, a never-ending fall, pushing back on to Javert and spending himself on the floor and side of the table. His eyes close as the pleasure overpowers him, he thinks he sees the face of God but it is Javert’s face he sees instead.

Javert follows him shortly, hands gripping Valjean’s hips again, thrusting in to Valjean’s clenching hole a handful of time before he pushes as deep as possible within Valjean’s body and spends himself. Valjean cries out yet again, the feeling of Javert spending himself in him striking another fit of pleasure through his body and his spend prick twitches helplessly. He is not left to enjoy the pleasures that rocks his body, for Javert pulls out after he has caught his breath, leaving Valjean whimpering from the feeling of being empty all of sudden. Javert leaves him like that; half slumped on the table in the mairie, arse in the air and the only evidence of what has conspired is the soon to be bruises on Valjean’s hips and Javert’s release inside his body.


End file.
